The battle at the two mesas (conclusion)
The battle in my basement did not go as I expected. You may recall from part one of this story that the stage was set. Standing on one barstool / mountainous mesa were four three-inch high warriors. On a second mountainous mesa a few feet away, stood a single well-armed warrior that looked Roman to me. All the figures appeared to be poised for battle. However, the action was paused because my son, Conor, had already gone to bed for the evening. I was left to wonder about the fate of all involved.
The next afternoon I approached Conor and asked him if the battle had concluded. He was surprised at my interest, but more than willing to fill in the details for me. It turns out I was wrong about the lone warrior being Roman. I got one of those "roll of the eyes" from him indicating just how little I know as a Dad (less every day, I might add). The lone warrior was in fact a Pict, an early inhabitant of present day Scotland. The Picts were known for painting themselves blue and fighting their enemies quite savagely. Perhaps you learned about the Picts in the recent movie King Arthur. Perhaps you also noticed sexy actress Keira Knightley, as Guinevere, painted blue and wearing a skimpy leather garment with many air holes that kept her cool and helped her to shoot arrows at the enemy with amazing accuracy. I might have noticed that, too, but only from a cinematographic perspective.
Not only was the lone warrior on the stool/mesa in the basement a Pict instead of a Roman, but he was fighting on the same side as the other warriors. They were a team! How could I not have seen that? The Pict had been sent on ahead to be a lookout. Yes, I know what you are thinking: a lookout for what?
They were all five on the lookout for this guy:
Growlmon.
Growlmon is a Digimon. Digimon are like Pokemon. Sort of. No parent can distinguish between them, even after the consumption of copious quantities of alcohol. I tried to figure it all out once; all I got was a headache. Growlmon is my son's favorite companion. He doesn't have a dog or a stuffed bear. He has Growlmon. Growlmon is about an inch and a half high and is about as cuddly as a rock in your shoe. Yet, he loves this little guy. He has held on to him for years. Growlmon travels everywhere with us. Growlmon has been to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, Ireland. Growlman has been to Scotland, so he knows the Pictish territory first hand. And most importantly, Growlmon has never, ever, lost in combat.
I should have known that Growlmon would be in the thick of this epic battle. But he was nowhere to be seen the other night. Where was he? Another roll of the eyes from my son. He was hiding, of course. Waiting to spring on the enemy when they least expected it. He was there; I just didn't see him.
At this point my son took me down to the basement to show me the battlefield in the aftermath of the war. Everything was still in place. It was disturbingly calm. "Notice anything unusual?" he asked. All of the warriors were on their sides, presumably dead from what I could tell. I shrugged my shoulders. "Look at the weapons," my son chided me. Suddenly, I got it. Each of these guys had met his demise with his own weapon. It was not a pretty picture. Growlmon had shown no mercy.
And where was Growlmon now? Conor pointed him out to me. He was down off the mesas, in the grand valley that is our carpet, riding away on the back of his trusty saber tooth tiger, seemingly unimpressed by his victory. It was as if he was thinking: is there no worthy opponent out there for me to fight? No one to test my skills? The Battle at the Two Mesas turned out to be just another skirmish in the life of the world's bravest Digimon.
5:58:44 PM  Stories
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